Page 20

Dylan skidded to a halt in front of them. “And you brought Gen. I can’t wait for you to meet my teacher. She said maybe you could visit our classroom...”
“Whoa, Dylan. Easy kiddo.” Scott caught up and laid a hand on his son’s shoulder. “What did we talk about?”
Dylan stilled and wrenched his gaze from Gen with a visible effort. “Sorry, sir. Hi, Abby. I’m glad you came to my school fundraiser. May I pet Gen?”
Abby, taking her cue from them, nodded solemnly. “Thank you for inviting me. Yes, you may.”
As Dylan dropped down beside the dog, Abby glanced at Scott, who shook his head in mock irritation. “All he could talk about on the way over was his excitement about seeing Gen. I reminded him how you said usually a handler likes to be acknowledged before the dog, but...” He shrugged.
Abby nodded. “It’s hard.”
They turned and started across the lawn toward the bright lights and musical jingles of the midway. To the right, a small Ferris wheel spun slowly, while other rides were arranged around its base like chicks beneath the protection of their mother’s wing. Wide red- and white-striped canvas tents covered a petting zoo, picnic tables for eating, and long benches overflowing with silent auction items.
Abby twined Gen’s leash through her fingers, the leather worked soft from years of handling, as Dylan danced ahead of them burbling a running commentary about his friends, teachers, favorite rides, and games.
“This is quite the event. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Beside her, Scott snorted. “You should see the fall fundraiser. They rent out an entire corn maze and at least one kid always gets lost.”
Dylan’s enthusiasm led them as far as the first row of games, where Scott turned over a couple dollars so they could toss rings over the tops of glass bottles. Abby struggled, and when one of her rings bounced wildly back out of the arena, Gen leapt into the air and caught it.
“Keep it,” the carny laughed. “She’s earned it.”
As they moved on to the next game, Gen paraded with her ring in her mouth, much to Dylan’s entertainment. He asked her to give it up, but it soon devolved into a tug-of-war game.
“Don’t let her win. Tug is great, but it’s really important she doesn’t learn to play keep-away.”
Dylan nodded, fingers wrapped around the slick, plastic ring, but when Gen wrenched it loose, Abby hooked her fingers through it.
“That’s enough, Gen. Leave it.”
Gen dropped the ring, mouth wide open in a smile, tail whisking the air behind her.
Abby tucked the ring into her small backpack, grabbing a few dollars at the same time. At the next booth, she handed them over so they could throw balls at stacked milk bottles.
Dylan won a small, inflatable teddy bear and Scott got a lucky bounce, winning a stuffed hippo with rainbow wings.
“You haven’t won anything yet,” Dylan commented as they moved on. “What games are you good at?”
Abby studied the next few tents. “I’m not sure, actually. I’ve never played the fair games.”
Dylan’s eyes widened. “Never? Not even as a kid?”
“No. My parents were kind of old school. They believed in hard work and saving.”
“So, you didn’t ever do anything fun?” Dylan’s wrinkled nose spoke volumes about his opinion.
“Dylan...” Scott scolded, but Abby laughed.
“We went camping for a week every summer in Congaree, and sometimes I’d go with my friends to their families’ beach houses, but this kind of thing,” she waved a hand, encompassing the festive fair atmosphere, “they didn’t really see the point.”
“That sounds...”
Abby caught Scott’s gaze as Dylan struggled for something polite to say and had to bite down on her lip to keep from laughing. Throwing him a lifeline, she said, “We’ve been to fairs for training, but I’ve never ridden the rides, or played the games.”
“You go to fairs for training?” Scott lifted an eyebrow. “Actually, never mind, I’m not surprised at all.”
Abby shrugged, though his words pricked her. Did she really not know how to have fun? “I am my parents’ daughter, and they’re good for distraction.”